The gradations of light from the horizon to the zenith at sunset. Beyond the silhouetted cars on the on-ramp to 93, I saw a pink-yellow subtly grading to yellow, to yellow-blue, to light almost greyish blue, then a deeper, darker blue. Above the the building in the distance, the evening star shone with a steady and strong, if pinpoint, brightness.
In his book Mind, and to the point of the aspectual nature of intentional states, John Searle writes: "For example, I may intentionally represent an object as the Evening Star and not as the Morning Star even though one and the same object are both. The aspect 'celestial body that shines at the horizon in the evening,' is not the same aspect as 'celestial body that shines at the horizon in the morning.'"
I can speak to this. That which I contemplated solitary in the sky while I was waiting for the train to go home after work seemed like a spotter in the distances reporting on what it could still see and I not, the steady departure of the sun, after which it is itself dragged down as torpedoed sailor might disappear into the vortex of the sinking ship.
Not so, the morning star I often see as I walk to work, a precursor of dawn, soon to be overwhelmed in the effulgence of the rising sun. No, it would be too cruel for there to be two different dooms for the same doughty 'star' twice a day. It seems like a revenge from Greek mythology. Indeed it's said that Pythagoras first figured out your two disjunct appearances refer to one object--an amazing insight.
Yet, they are the same object, Venus, even if not recognized as such, and behaving so because between closer to the Sun than the Earth (much of the time), planet of sulfurous storms, kiln-level heat, and other savage features that belie it's erotic reference. The brightness of this sibling planet is in part due to the reflectivity of its thick toxic clouds We are warned that our green globe may turn into a venus if we fail to control our emissions.
None of this last is evident as I watch the star above the setting sun, bright enough to be visible even in the early dusk, indeed even brighter as dusk deepens. You look to me as a sentinel in the beautifully gradually darkening sky.
Of course, my perceptions of you and what is going on are linked to my very specific point of perception and to the routine as-if translations I make to convert global reality (the turning of the earth, etc.) into local useful reality (the sun is sinking). Yet as the sounds of Holst sound inaudibly deep in my ear; the images of Giotto appear imperceptibly at the corner of my eye, I admire your exquisiteness, evening star, set as you are in a bed of rich colors. I salute you.
In his book Mind, and to the point of the aspectual nature of intentional states, John Searle writes: "For example, I may intentionally represent an object as the Evening Star and not as the Morning Star even though one and the same object are both. The aspect 'celestial body that shines at the horizon in the evening,' is not the same aspect as 'celestial body that shines at the horizon in the morning.'"
I can speak to this. That which I contemplated solitary in the sky while I was waiting for the train to go home after work seemed like a spotter in the distances reporting on what it could still see and I not, the steady departure of the sun, after which it is itself dragged down as torpedoed sailor might disappear into the vortex of the sinking ship.
Not so, the morning star I often see as I walk to work, a precursor of dawn, soon to be overwhelmed in the effulgence of the rising sun. No, it would be too cruel for there to be two different dooms for the same doughty 'star' twice a day. It seems like a revenge from Greek mythology. Indeed it's said that Pythagoras first figured out your two disjunct appearances refer to one object--an amazing insight.
Yet, they are the same object, Venus, even if not recognized as such, and behaving so because between closer to the Sun than the Earth (much of the time), planet of sulfurous storms, kiln-level heat, and other savage features that belie it's erotic reference. The brightness of this sibling planet is in part due to the reflectivity of its thick toxic clouds We are warned that our green globe may turn into a venus if we fail to control our emissions.
None of this last is evident as I watch the star above the setting sun, bright enough to be visible even in the early dusk, indeed even brighter as dusk deepens. You look to me as a sentinel in the beautifully gradually darkening sky.
Of course, my perceptions of you and what is going on are linked to my very specific point of perception and to the routine as-if translations I make to convert global reality (the turning of the earth, etc.) into local useful reality (the sun is sinking). Yet as the sounds of Holst sound inaudibly deep in my ear; the images of Giotto appear imperceptibly at the corner of my eye, I admire your exquisiteness, evening star, set as you are in a bed of rich colors. I salute you.
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